


Carry On Fanfic Showcase

by Heliotrope_Moon



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Compliant, Depression, Drinking, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Penelope Bunce & Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Friendship, Post-Book 1: Carry On, Pre-Book 2: Wayward Son, Simon Snow's Wings and Tail, Smoking, Tags to be added as fics are, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:13:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24734461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heliotrope_Moon/pseuds/Heliotrope_Moon
Summary: Updated once a week on a Monday.Thank you so much to all of the creators who took the time to participate in this little project and put up with me for the last month and a half <3You can find all the creators on Instagram where they also post Snowbaz fanfic (which are all awesome btw please check them out):@carryonau_@simon_snow_likes_baz_in_jeans@carryontwitterau@snowbaz_twitter_au@snowbaztwt.au@carryonau@snowbaz_twt_au@snowbaz_twitterand, of course, me, @heliotropemoonAll of the people who worked on this are absolutely amazing writers and I find myself astounded to be able to collaborate with these people and to talk to them. Thank you so much for joining me with this <3
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Kudos: 31





	1. Am I Happy?

**Author's Note:**

> Heliotrope here! I wrote this short little fanfic because I did want to take part in this project, but I didn't want to be a large focus of it.  
> All the writers here are absolutely amazing, not just at writing, but as people too. This is just a fraction of the amazing writers I've seen in our small community and I just want to show off what an astounding collection of people we have here.
> 
> So, although this fanfic is short, and not very good, I want to dedicate it to the Snowbaz community, because I love you all so much.
> 
> Thank you.

Baz hasn't come back in weeks; I'm getting scared.

Eighth-year started just over a month ago, Baz was meant to be here, it's not like him to give up on education. I mean, Eighth-year is optional, but Baz wouldn't think it is. _"It's important, Snow, but I can't expect someone who thinks to slash through everyone with a sword is the answer to everything to understand that though"._

He should be here. His mother visited from beyond the veil the other night to talk to him; even she didn't know where he was. But it just solidifies my point - he _should_ be here.

It's annoying that I don't know where he is. The most likely reason is that he's off plotting another way to kill me with his family. Even now, after the sky went dark hours ago, I'm sat here waiting for him to come back. My eyes are fixed on that old wooden door, waiting to hear the unbearable squeak of the rusted hinges.

But I'm getting tired, and I still have lessons tomorrow. It's not like they're going to cancel classes until one specific kid is found (they should). I hate to even think it; I miss him a little bit. I kind of want to wake up to Baz in here, asleep and safe, with me. He's my nemesis (after the Humdrum) obviously, I should be happy that he's gone; I'm not.

I just want to see him one more time before the war kicks off. 

I just wish I knew he was safe.

* * *

When I wake up, I'm quite alarmed that I'm not in the same place that I was. At first, I assume I've been kidnapped by some dark creature again; given the fact I wake up on a very nice couch, that doesn't seem to be the case. The TV seems to be on. It's playing The Great British Bake-off, but it's weird, for some reason they've replaced Mary Berry, Mel, and Sue. Strange. Looking around the place, it seems quite homely. I think it's the nicest place I've been in. There are flowers on the coffee table next to a large book with a bookmark sticking half-way out. Almost everywhere I look, there's a blanket folded up neatly on top of something. I try to look for pictures to get a glimpse of my captor, but I can't find any.

I suddenly hear someone yawning from the other room. My instinct is to reach for the sword of mages, but when they open the door to the other room, I'm completely at a loss. This person looks _exactly_ like me. Well, not exactly. He's a little taller, and a tiny bit bulkier than I am. Oh, and he has fucking _dragon wings_ and a cartoon _devil's tail._

He looks at me in almost the same state of shock that I'm in. 

"What the fuck?" he says, walking closer towards me.

"Stay back! I have a sword!" he looks puzzled. Then, realisation washes over his face.

"Holy shit! I'm- You're-!" He quickly grabs my shoulders which makes me stand as stiff as a board. "You're me!"

"What?" He's fucking batshit. He has _wings_ for crying out loud! There's just laughter bubbling out from his throat; I'm almost tempted to hit him.

Is this what Baz feels?

"Could you let go of me, please?" I ask, and he does. He seems to calm down from his giggling fit and stare me down. His _tail_ is swishing back and forth the tiniest bit. He notices and grabs hold of the tail.

"Sorry, that happens sometimes." he smiles. Alright then. This is so weird.

We stand there in intense silence. This guy claims to be me, I mean he has most of the looks down, but he seems older, more filled out than I am, oh, and not to mention the _dragon appendages_ sticking out of him. He's also missing that overwhelming smell of smoke. I've been told it's hard to be around me when I smell like five bonfires which aren't even a foot apart from each other. 

Suddenly, I can hear keys jingling from outside the door, and my brain instantly kicks into fight mode. Dragon guy simply reaches for a blanket and ties it around his lower waist, just below the tail. What the fuck?

"Hey Si, are you and B- Morgana's tits!" A woman curses as she sees me. I undoubtedly recognise her the moment I see her. Penny.

"It wasn't me!" Dragon guy puts his hands up. "Technically."

"Simon, what the bloody hell did you do?"

"I can't do anything! Remember?" He wiggles his fingers in mid-air, and I'm left confused. Penny, or at least a woman who resembles Penny in far too many ways, just sighs at him. She rubs the bridge of her nose underneath her glasses.

"Okay just- let's just sit down."

* * *

Once we had all sat down, we tried to figure out how the hell I got into this flat in the first place. While we didn't figure that out, we did state that I am either from a parallel universe or that I'm from Dragon Guy Simon's past which,,, I doubt.

"If it is time travel, we have to be careful and not let him see, well, you know who," Penny nudges Dragon Simon harshly. He pouts a little.

"Couldn't we just like, y' know?" he wipes his hand in front of his forehead and makes a swishing noise. Penny audibly gasps and hits him lightly.

"Simon that's _illegal_."

"So is time travel!"

They fall into a bantery argument that leads them to discuss it all in the kitchen, leaving me alone in the living room. If this is my future, then it all seems like my life got a bit off track. I live in a contemporary apartment instead of the nice luscious house Agatha and I have talked about. There doesn't seem to be any trace of kids even though I'm in my late-twenties or early-thirties. I live in a city instead of in the countryside. It all seems quite foreign to me. The thing that scares me the most isn't the dragon wings, I got used to them quite easily. It's this whole life. I'm living almost like a Normal lives. I can barely feel any magic in this place. It's not like one of the dead spots, it doesn't feel empty or anything. Maybe lacking is the word I'm looking for. There is magic here, I can just about feel it, but it hasn't been used in so long it's almost gone dormant.

I hear keys jingling from outside the door again, and I jump to action. Who else could this be?

The door swings open.

I call forth the sword of mage's and point it at his neck.

Basilton Pitch.

What is he doing here?

How is he alive?

He quickly puts his hands up, one of which is holding a large cup of iced coffee, and he looks down at me surprised.

"I thought I said no swords in the flat, Snow?" he questions as if this is a regular occurrence. I squint my eyes at him.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I ask, pushing the sword a little closer towards him.

"Bringing us dinner?" he gestures to the bag at his feet. "Are you feeling okay? Oh Merlin, did Shepard drop off those brownies again? I told you not to eat them alone."

"What? No! Who's Shepard?" Baz looks down at me completely confused.

"Baz!" Dragon Simon shouts as he runs towards the both of us. "Put that sword down! Drop it!"

I lower the sword, but it's still in my hands. I don't trust Baz one bit. I'm starting to think this must be a parallel universe. Unless Baz is here to kill future me. That makes sense.

Baz looks between Dragon Simon and me as he tries to piece things together. That's when I start to notice little things. First, he's a bit taller than I remember, definitely reaching over six foot now. His hair is a tiny bit longer, maybe, I can't tell because instead of slicking it back like he usually does it instead hangs loosely around his face. His face,,, well, he certainly looks older, but in that mature kind of sexy way, not the dying way. His nose has straightened a tiny little bit; it's still crooked from the time I broke it. That still fills me with a little bit of pride. Baz Pitch has a permanently crooked nose because of me.

He's also wearing (barely, half of it's not even buttoned-up) the most disgusting floral shirt I've ever seen; I love it.

"When did you perform time travel?" Baz then asks, taking a sip of the drink in his hand. I notice the small silver band on his finger. Is Baz married? Who in the entire world of Mages would marry Basilton Pitch?

"How do you know it's time travel and not, uh, parallel universe jumping!" Dragon Simon points out. Merlin and Morgana, please let this be a parallel universe. I don't want a life where my nemesis pops in for dinner. Sure, I want him to be okay, but not like this.

"Because there isn't a spell for it, at least not one that you would've known in, what, seventh year?" Baz points out, finally walking into the flat with the bag in his hand, closing the door. I almost try to correct him, but he continues. "Plus, no one's magic is strong enough for that, not even when you went off."

"I dunno, seems like the same effort to time jump and world jump."

"That's because you never put too much effort into your spells anyway."

"Hey!"

Aleister fucking Crowley, they're bickering like an old married couple. I decide to leave them to it and join Penny, who is still hanging out in the kitchen, a glass of red wine in her hand. She looks over at me.

"Drink?" she gestures to the bottle of wine, and I have to refuse, even though I think I need a drink.

"Can't, 'm too young," I admit. She shakes her head and starts pouring another glass of wine. What?

"If you're in our own house it isn't illegal." She finishes pouring and hands me the glass. I take a sniff before I drink it - it smells _foul_. Like if vinegar and rotten fruit had a baby. I decide, fuck it, and take a drink. It's even worse; it tastes like dirt. I make a face at it; Penny notices and laughs.

"It's disgusting."

"I guess you are too young then." She takes the glass off me and swirls her own in her hand.

We're both stood there pretty awkwardly. There's a lot of questions I want to ask right now, but I'm pretty sure I'd ruin the 'time-space continuum', whatever that is. I don't think I care right now, though. Why is Baz Pitch at my flat? Is Agatha here? Why in the seven circles of hell is Penny getting drunk in my kitchen?

I opt for an easy one.

"So, um, who did Baz end up marrying?"

She freezes and stares at her wine. Oh no, is it a sensitive subject? Maybe he's divorced or something but being sentimental about it by still carrying around the ring. I feel like that's something Baz might do, then again, Baz doesn't have feelings.

"Why? You jealous?" she smiles at herself. I feel my blood heating up and rushing to my face.

"No! 'm just curious, didn't think the asshole was capable of love," I comment. Penny laughs at that. Why isn't she taking me seriously?

"Baz is the sappiest shit I've met in my whole life," she says, smiling as she looks down. "I've never seen a guy _more_ in love with someone."

The fond smile; the soft tone. Oh, dear Lord.

"Penny, did _you_ marry Baz?"

She chokes on her wine, hitting her chest as she coughs a little. She looks at me sternly, a look which I'm used to. I guess that's a no then.

"What?"

"Simon Snow, I can assure you that no matter what universe we're in, no matter how corrupt a timeline gets, I would never marry Baz Pitch." I breathe a sigh of relief. Thank Merlin, I have no idea how I'd react if my best friend married my sworn nemesis. Just the thought of it makes me feel sick to my stomach.

Penny and I slip into idle conversation; I think she's trying to determine if I'm from a parallel universe by fact-checking the past. I don't really pay attention to the conversation, I'm instead trying to listen out for the rising voices coming from the living room. They're getting a little louder with each sentence. Penny clicks on and peaks her head through the doorway; I follow her example. However, the moment we start spying, everything seems to calm down.

Baz is sat on the back of the sofa as Dragon Simon stands in front of him, tense. Baz's face twists from anger, and he seems to look at him with these impossibly soft eyes. What?

"I'm sorry I raised my voice, It was an inappropriate reaction." Baz stands up and gently (gently?) takes Dragon Simon's hand into his. Dragon Simon immediately loses all tension. _What?_ "I'm sure there's a solution to this, and we'll figure it out together, yeah?"

Baz uses his other hand to cradle Dragon Simon's cheek. Dragon Simon all but seems to lean into the touch as he raises his left hand to hold Baz's. The scene is too sweet to be between the two of us. This has to be a parallel universe, right? That's when I notice another silver band nestled onto the finger of Dragon Simon. One that perfectly matches...

Oh no.

"What the fuck?" I shout. Everyone turns to face me; Baz and Dragon Simon back away from each other. The room fills with a tense silence. That is until Penny butts in.

"Right! Well, I'm off. Hope you two have a nice night with Simon here!"

"Aren't you going to try and help us?"

"Simon, you're perfectly capable of handling situations like this with Baz here. Plus the door is already closing, oh no bye." she sings at the end, making it seem like her leaving was inevitable. Rude.

The three of us stand there, awkwardly, not knowing what to say now. The two of them slowly make their way out of the living room and into the kitchen; I just stand there; confused as all fuck. Well then.

* * *

Baz and Dragon Simon haven't left the kitchen in a full hour, and I'm getting bored. I tried watching TV, but it's hard to keep track of everything when I haven't seen a few years worth of content (The Doctor is a woman now? That's weird; I'm not complaining).

I don't think that it's all fully sunk in. I'm not sure if this is a parallel universe or an alternate reality - I really doubt it. What's strangest to me is that I'm not exactly mad if this is my future. Sure, the dragon wings and tail are a little off-putting, but they're kind of cool in all honesty. Dragon Simon doesn't even seem that bothered with them.

The Baz thing... I'm not sure how it would happen. The two of us are mortal enemies (does it count if he's possibly immortal?), we're on opposing sides of a pointless war. I'm meant to kill him one day, or vice versa. How could the two of us ever turn that around?

It's not deterring me from this future. The scariest thing about having Baz in my life is that I _want_ him there. I don't know if I necessarily want him to marry me and have such a domestic life together, but I at least want him there. Fuck, does this mean I turn gay in the future? I mean, you can't just turn gay, but I don't think I've been attracted to a guy, yet. Have I? Goblins are kind of attractive - Baz is pretty attractive for a guy too.

Fuck, _am I_ attracted to Baz?

Anyone who has eyes will admit that Baz is good-looking. He's got that whole dark and mysterious thing going for him. He's tall, plays the violin, he's good at football which makes him proper fit (athletically, but yes, sexy too). Plus, he's got that damned smirk that lights a fire of rage inside of you and- oh, maybe it's not rage.

Baz seems sort of different here. Not massively, I think I'd describe it as lighter, maybe even happier. His skin is a little bit less grey than it was (does that mean he's started feeding more regularly? Or maybe he's feeding on something new). He didn't seem like the type of guy to wear floral shirts only half-buttoned up back at Watford, but things change I guess (and I am _not_ complaining about that).

This is all insane. I feel like I'm going mad.

* * *

I've ended up sleeping on their couch. They don't have a guest bedroom, so I'm on the sofa with the world's fluffiest blanket (seriously, it feels like someone skinned a dragon and stuck some sheep's wool on it). I'm boiling alive, under a damn throw blanket. Not to mention that the whole place stinks of pizza because they ended up ordering a takeaway. It was really weird to eat in front of an older (dragon) version of myself and Baz, and that's coming from _me_. None of us talked. Well, neither of them talked to me. I just kind of tried to hide in one corner of the couch as they flirted the whole night away.

I'm tossing and turning when I notice the bedroom door opening, and Dragon Simon trying to creep out. It's pretty hard to not notice him when he's got these huge wings sticking out of his back. I just stare at him until his eyes meet mine.

"Uh, did I wake you?" he whispers, closing the bedroom door over.

"I was awake anyway," I shrug. He looks down at me and decides to sit at the end of the couch. We both just sit there for a while. It's inappropriate, but I'm almost laughing at the scene. Two versions of me sat awkwardly on a couch. It's a little funny when you think about it.

"I was talking to Baz and Penny," he starts. Oh no. "They think that you've somehow moved in time, so do y'mind if I ask a few questions?"

"Suppose not."

"When are you from?"

"Eighth-year."

"At Watford?"

"Where else?"

"So you're still a mage?"

"Of course."

"Good." He nods a little, looking down at his hands. He suddenly moves and stares straight ahead. "When abouts in eighth-year?"

I shrug. "Near the start, I guess? We're part-way through the October term."

"So Baz isn't back yet?"

"He actually comes back?"

Dragon Simon turns and smiles at me, giving me a small nod. I don't even notice the small smile creeping onto my face until he laughs a little.

"Whatever, 'ts not like I miss him." Dragon Simon actually laughs at that one.

"I really was in denial, shit." he calms a little after that and places a hand on my shoulder. "I've literally _been_ you, you can't exactly lie to me."

I pout at that. "So I'm just you from the past?"

"I think so, yeah. I don't think I can answer any big questions because like, the timeline and stuff, but if you have a small question, I think I'm allowed to answer."

I think for a moment. There are so many questions in my head to choose from. What happened to the Humdrum? Who won the war? How the hell did I end up marrying Baz Pitch? Why do I have wings and a _fucking tail_?

I opt for an easier one.

"Am I happy?" I was never really happy when I left Watford for just the summer. I wasn't looking forward to the end of eighth-year at all because it meant leaving Watford for good. Am I really happy living like this? It seems far too Normal.

Dragon Simon smiles sympathetically. "You... You have a rough couple of years after Watford, but I _promise you_ it gets better."

I smile at that. It's nice to know that have a secure future. Merlin, It's nice to know I have a future. I've spent so long fighting for my life, I didn't think I'd live past my twenties. Agatha once told me she thought I was going to die fighting; I completely agreed with her.

"You need rest, it's been a long day." Dragon Simon gets up and heads for the kitchen, leaving me alone again in the living room.

I settle down into the couch, feeling more tired than I thought I was.

* * *

I wake up in a tangle of blankets with a massive headache. It feels like I just woke up next to the bloody sun in my room, so I get up and close the window immediately. I feel like I've forgotten something. Something important. If I forgot that means it doesn't matter.

My body feels bloody knackered. It's almost like I've been travelling for days - years even! I don't care if I have classes, I need my bed right now. I must be delirious at this point because I'm imagining the smell of cedar and bergamot invading the room.

Speaking of beds, before I get even another minute of blissful sleep I peek over at Baz's bed, only to see... 

His clothes are laid out there, neatly, waiting to be put away. Just at the sight of them, my heart starts racing. The moment my eyes land on them, I hear the shower in the ensuite turn on. Merlin.

Baz is back; I literally can't stop myself from smiling.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No set prompt Baz shuts Simon out because he’s scared of his feelings, then realizes he has messed up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By @simon_snow_likes_baz_in_jeans
> 
> This is quite angsty so I’d suggest not reading if you don’t like angst! No trigger warnings though, just pining and jealousy :)

Basil Pitch had done more than enough research to know that said research wasn’t going to help him do what he wanted- no,  _ needed- _ to do. He could have dressed up, made it a special occasion, but he wasn’t going to. He was nervous enough as it is. 

He got in his car, and started it up, and then-

Just sat there. 

He just sat there. 

He could picture Simon’s face every single moment, even when he tried not to. In every single thing he did, he saw his best friend. When Baz pushed his hair from his face, he wondered how different it would be if Simon was the one doing it. When he smiled at himself in the mirror, checking if he looked good enough to meet Simon in the afternoon, he wondered what would happen if he didn’t put in the effort. Would Simon still allow him to be in his orbit? 

Or would he cast him away?

Baz knew, even months ago, after they’d barely begun to hang out, that those feelings, those  _ insecurities,  _ were too deep and blinding for it to just be a friendship thing. He knew this, but he ignored it, until it started choking him. Until it came to the point where it would hurt to be around Simon, knowing how much he just wanted to hold him, to be  _ his person,  _ and his  _ only  _ person. 

So, he stopped hanging around Simon as much. He knew this was a cowardly thing to do,  _ he knew this.  _ He knew it as he ignored Simon’s texts, knew it as he felt the stab in his gut that must have been ten times the amount Simon was feeling. Because Simon was so perfect; he had so many other people to fall back on. 

Baz remembered one night, when the self loathing was particularly bad, when Simon sent him one last text. The text wasn’t anything special. Baz had been ignoring Simon for a month, and Simon was done with the begging, the asking what was wrong. He sent a short “f*ck you”, and that’s the last text he sent. 

That night… Baz let himself cry. He let himself dwell on how he didn’t  _ know  _ whether that was the right thing to do. Of course, Simon would be fine. But… if it hurt them both this much, should he continue to do it?

_ Could  _ he continue to do it?

Baz knew he couldn’t as the tears fogged up his brain, as he, for the eleventh time that day, clicked onto Simon’s instagram page. 

Just the silhouette of Simon could make Baz’s heart constrict, so seeing him smiling at the camera with his arms around his friends made Baz’s heart shatter into a million pieces. 

He was convincing himself it was better this way, he was  _ trying  _ to protect Simon, to protect himself. He knew it was selfish, but it would be better this way. 

But he still tucked his knees up into his chest and let himself just feel. He let himself relive the pictures they had taken, how wide their smiles had been. 

It wasn’t a breakup. But it felt a lot worse. 

***

Baz began driving. That had been a month ago, and instead of continuing to wallow, Baz realized that he would never be happy if he couldn’t see those blue eyes every single day. He knew he was one of the most selfish bastards on the planet for wanting this, and he knew he didn’t deserve Simon.

That didn’t stop him. He couldn’t stop, when it had taken everything in him to stop feeling sorry for himself and actually do something about it. 

But he only accelerated down the roads he knew so well. Simon’s house was only thirty minutes away, and he’d been there so many times he’d lost count. But this time felt very different. This could be the last time he ever went to that house again. 

But at least… 

At least there was a chance it wouldn’t be. Which wasn’t the case a month ago. 

A month. That’s how long they hadn’t been talking. Baz would remember something he would want to say, something he thought only Simon would understand, but then remember. 

Baz almost texted him back a coule hundred times. It was almost daily when Baz would start typing a reply, an apology, but it wasn’t from the heart. He never sent it. 

But Baz was trying to apologize, now. He knew he shouldn’t be forgiven, but he just-

He just wanted to see him once more, before they said goodbye for good. And Baz was a cliche, sure, but at least he was feeling alive, which was more than he’d been feeling for the last couple of months. 

Baz pulled up in front of the driveway he knew almost as well as his own. The lights were on inside, so he knew Simon was home. 

It was now or never. Well, he could turn back and pretend this had never happened, but-

Blue eyes pierced his from the window, and Baz almost lost the nerve. Almost broke down crying. Because there wasn’t the recognizable warmth he associated with Simon. There was no crinkle of the eyes, which hinted at an unfairly cute smile. 

But Baz knew he didn’t deserve that. 

He would have to do his best to ever see that smile again. 

Baz was shaking as he walked up the steps, and rung the doorbell. His hand was trembling so much that he put it in his pocket, but then it was too hot, and his palms were sweaty, and-

Simon opened the door. Thank Crowley. 

“What?” Simon never used to be this upfront. This… cold. But Baz had done this. Baz was to blame. 

Baz clutched the doorframe for support. Being this close to Simon was a luxury he hadn’t known until he had pushed it away. And now… now he wanted to stay in Simon’s magnetic warmth for as long as he could. 

“Can I come in?” Baz asked, and Simon’s eyebrows furrowed.

“No. You ghost me for a f*cking month, and you want to come inside my house?  _ No.”  _

Baz fliched, because he knew that was coming. 

“Simon, I can explain. I really can. I-” Baz was stuttering. That never used to happen before. 

Simon wondered what Baz had been reduced to. This stuttering mess wasn’t who he remembered Baz to be. 

“Explain, then. Go ahead. I have a date I have to get ready for, so be quick.”

Baz’s eyes went wide, and he stepped back.  _ Date.  _ Oh, God. 

Baz closed his eyes against the tears that threatened to well up.

He was so  _ stupid.  _

“What’s she like, then?” Baz mustered a half smile, met with a hostile glare from Simon. 

“If you have nothing valuable to say, leave.” Simon pointed out the door. Simon was so unlike himself, but having your heart broken will do that to you.

Baz felt his vision dim as he heard his voice whisper.

“I like you. I have for a while, only internalized it a few months ago. And… and, I just-” Baz was shaking like a leaf. 

Simon took a step back inside his house, and closed the door. 

***

Simon had closed the door on him. 

  
Simon Snow, one of the nicest people alive, had closed the door on him, after he showed him the most vulnerable part of him.    
  


No. 

He had to ignore his first instinct, of running home with his tail between his legs. 

If Simon Snow was going to break his heart, he was going to do it properly. 

He rang the doorbell, again, and again, until finally, he stepped back, his bravado from a few seconds ago gone. Until…

He hadn’t heard the lock click. He tried the door, and it swung opened. He almost smiled. Simon hadn’t locked the door.

He knew he should probably leave Simon alone, that he had a date to get ready for, that he clearly didn’t want him here, but…

Simon was smart enough to lock the door if he wanted to.

Simon was in the living room, just sitting there, head in hands. 

“Simon?” Baz whispered, softly, scared that Simon would-

“Go.” Simon was crying, Baz realized, and he recognized the shaking of his shoulders. “Just go. Haven’t you lied to me enough already?” 

Lie?

Simon thought that was a lie?

“Simon… I wasn’t lying. I’ve liked you for a long time and-”

“FOUR MONTHS ISN”T A LONG TIME, BAZ.” Simon stood up, and he was shouting. 

Baz hadn’t seen him this angry before. 

His voice became deadly quiet and Simon walked toward him. “We went to school together, Baz. I doubt you remember. You were a year older than me. I saw you playing football one day, in the field- I was meant to be reporting on the game- and I fell for you. I’ve loved you for  _ years,  _ Baz. So when we started becoming friends, I thought this was the most I’d have of you, this was the pieces I’d get of you, and that was  _ fine,  _ because I was happy, I was content-” Simon sat back down, his legs giving way. “And then you ghosted me. I thought I messed up what we had, spent a  _ month  _ trying to get you back. But you know what, Baz? If you’re selfish enough to not only run from your feelings, but take  _ two months  _ to realize you’re wrong, then you’re not worth it, Baz. I spent five years-  _ five years  _ of my life on you. You’ve spent five months. And you think you’ve had it rough. I’ve spent the last month trying so hard not to think about you. I’ve gone on dates. I look for you in every single person I meet. But-”

Simon stood up again, like he’d suddenly had a surge of energy. 

“But I’ll get there. I’ll get over you, Baz. And I hope you’re going to get over me, because you aren’t going to get me back. You had your reasons for staying away, but none of them are good enough for making me think I wasn’t good enough for a  _ month.  _ A month, Baz. I wanted to stop living, every single day of that month. I wanted you to be here, I wanted you to be with me, I wanted to see you, I just wanted you to-”

Simon’s sobs were filling the room, overpowering his voice. 

_ “I just wanted you to love me.”  _ he was whispering above his choked sobs, now. “That’s all I wanted. And you  _ did. You do.  _ But at the cost of our friendship, at the cost of everything I felt about you. Feel. Because there’s a little bit of me that makes me want to go over to you and forgive you, but I- I deserve better, Baz.”

Baz wanted to scream that he  _ agreed _ with Simon, that he just wanted to say his piece and go, but he knew that true. Why would he have come here if he hadn’t wanted something else? He could have texted him if he just wanted to say he was sorry. 

Simon turned away from him. 

Baz walked out of the house. 

Neither of them spoke to each other ever again. 

They’d brush arms, occasionally, by chance, at a grocery store, or make eye contact at a restaurant. They’d both catch fleeting moments of when their smiles weren’t forced, when each other’s company was enough. But then Simon’s new girl would loop her arm around his waist, or Dev and Niall would ask Baz a question. 

And they moved on. 


	3. wish you were sober

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> by @snowbaz_twitter_au

**Simon**

Most days, when he comes to visit, I’m already halfway through a big bag of crisps, with my socked feet up on the arm of the sofa. Most days, when he comes sauntering in, pretending he’s not worried, there’s a bottle of cider on the floor beside the legs of the couch. Most days, I don’t say anything to him at all. 

Some days-- the worst days-- the smell of smoke clings to him, like it used to cling to me. 

When things were good (when I was good), almost four months ago at this point (five months, really), he’d come striding in like he owned the place (he almost does; he’s been paying my half of the rent). He’d drop a kiss on my forehead and settle into the cushions beside me. He’d toss an arm over my shoulder, always so careful not to jostle my wings too much. Even then, when things were still some semblance of okay, I hated them. 

I’d press myself into him. I’d press myself to his side and inhale him. Cedar and bergamot and that new cologne he’s been wearing-- something like lavender, maybe vanilla. (Things fell apart slowly-- first to go was the long nights pressed up against my mattress, then the light touches throughout the day. Then we didn’t snog at all-- don’t kiss my lips, my mind screamed. Forehead kisses and hand holding disappeared. Sometimes he touches my shoulder now, or rubs my back. It’s not enough, and it’s too much.)

But even then, when things were good--so good-- he sometimes smelled like smoke. I hated it. I hated it because it reminded me of when I used to smell like smoke, when he used to smell like smoke because of me. When I’d go off in our room, or on the Great Lawn, or in the Wavering Wood, with him in my face and me in his. Penny would drag me away, and he’d stalk off somewhere, probably to drain rats in the Catacombs, or sneer at Dev and Niall some more. I don’t know why they put up with him. (I don’t know why he puts up with me.)

But when he came back-- he always came back-- he had to-- he’d always smell like smoke. My smoke. 

What I hate the most, about the smoke, that is, isn’t even that, though. I hate it because he’s fucking flammable. He’s a goddamn can of gasoline, and he’s flirting with embers. 

No matter how much I pushed him, he wouldn’t give up cigarettes. I even got Penny on my side, and he just won’t listen to reason. It’s infuriating to no end. Like everything he does. Like everything between us now. 

**Baz**

Most days, when I come to visit, Snow is sprawled across that damned sofa, crumbs settled into the folds of a ratty t-shirt, in trackie bottoms with holes in the knees. Most days, when I try to be strong for him, there are empty bottles on the coffee table. Most days, we don’t even talk. 

Some days--the best days-- he’ll let me sit on the end of the couch, his feet in my lap. 

When things were good (when we were good), months ago, he’d make room for me on the couch and I’d put a hand in his hair, toying with soft curls. (He hardly ever showers now-- they’re greasy and matted to his forehead.) I’d kiss his temple, then his cheek, and his strong jaw, and the mole on the tip of his nose. He’d laugh, and swat at me, and crawl into my lap. His wings (I love his fucking wings) would fan out behind him, casting us in a hazy red glow. Our own little world. 

He’d smell like something I want to eat-- cinnamon and warm butter and sweat. It was good, so good. (Things fell apart too quickly for me to figure out how to stop it. He stopped sleeping in my bed and then he stopped teasing me all day and then he stopped touching me all together. And then I had to stop touching him. Sometimes-- on better days, when Bunce opens the curtains and makes him bathe-- I can touch his shoulder, or his back. He flinches, at first, but then leans into me. It’s not enough, never enough.)

Even when things were good, even when he laughed and let me pet his hair and looked at me like I’d hung the moon (I didn’t; my mother did), sometimes he smelled like alcohol. At first, I let it alone. Nothing to really be upset about. I trusted him. I trusted him not to go too far, and I trusted myself to not let him go too far. 

But sometimes when I came over, after kicking Bunce out of her own flat so we could be alone, it’d be too much. One perk of being half dead is a keen sense of smell- I could tell something was wrong. 

What I hate the most about it-- about Simon melded to the couch, about the look on his face when he meets my eyes by accident, about the way he looks away like I’ve burned him, about the way he smells like cider and beer (please don’t drink more beer, I want to scream)-- is that I let it happen. 

I should have seen it. I should have stopped it. 

**Simon**

Penny avoids me now. She used to come and sit with me, and pretend to watch whatever bullshit was on the telly. But I could feel her eyes drifting over to me every minute or so, and it made my skin crawl. She probably thinks I’m some freak. (I am.)

When she looks at me now, I want to cry. There’s so much pain in her eyes. Her lip will tremble for a minute and then she’ll straighten up, and say something entirely too normal. Something about the weather, and how I should take a walk. Or something about the news. I don’t watch the news. I don’t want to know what’s happening. I just want it all to stop. 

I like it better when she’s in class. I know she and Baz try to rotate ‘Simon Duty’, so I’m not ever really alone. But even so, their classes often line up, and I’m alone in the flat. That’s the only time I get up off the sofa. I walk to the store down the block, and buy more cheap food and cider. Last week, I even bought an apple. I felt pretty proud of myself, but it went to waste in my coat pocket. 

It’s best when I’m alone. I can fall apart more completely. But then Baz will come waltzing in, trying to say something to me, and I have to pick myself back up. It’s an effort not to just break down when I see him. I don’t like anyone around.

He’s never mean to me anymore. I kinda wish he would be, so maybe I could feel like myself again. There was a night, maybe two weeks ago now, when he came in and I was sitting up, folding some towels. It had been a rather good day-- I’d had water and breakfast (with protein and everything!), and decided to help Penny out a little, as a surprise. She does so much for me. (They both do.)

Baz had raised an eyebrow--just the one, in that posh way of his, that I can’t do. And then he’d come closer, carefully, like I was a wild animal he didn’t want to scare away. Maybe that’s how he walks towards the stray cats he drains, or the deer in the big park down the road. Except I never feel like Baz wants to eat me anymore. I’ve probably gone satale, or something. 

He’d dropped gracefully onto the couch, and eyed me warily, and said in that teasing voice I like best, “Someone’s decided to be helpful for once.” 

I knew he was trying his best, trying to be like the old Baz, so maybe I’d be the old me. I appreciated it, and I even smiled. “I want to surprise Penny.” 

“She’ll definitely be surprised.” He sneered, for good measure. His eyes were practically glowing. And then he leaned forward, like he was going to touch me or kiss my cheek, and I would have let him. Except he smelled like cigarette smoke. 

I didn’t really mean to shove him that hard. (I’m surprised I had that much strength left in me. Crisps and cider don’t really make for a chiselled physique.)

Something flashed across his eyes then, something I couldn’t define. Not hurt, but something close. 

I swallowed. “S-sorry. It’s just…” 

“Simon,” He said, gently. We had an unspoken agreement, before, that he’d only call me that when he was being soft. Except he never calls me Snow anymore, and I wish he would. “You don’t have to apologize.” I knew he was talking about just then, but it felt heavier than that. LIke more. 

I didn’t say anything back. He watched me fold the towels in tense, worried silence, and then Penny got home. 

**Baz**

Bunce went away for a weekend a month ago, during one of Simon’s worst weeks. The timing was shitty as all hell, but there wasn’t much she could do-- it was for class, and most of her grade. She showed up at my door the night before. 

We had decided, before, that I would come and see him throughout the day while she was gone, that I could sleep in my own bed and he would be fine alone for a few nights. But then he got worse, very quickly. She’d collapsed on the armchair in my living room, looking more tired than I’d ever seen her. More tired than when we fought the Humdrum, more tired than when she fought off that flock of harpies our fifth year, with Simon half-dead on her back. (She’s always been fierce. Sometimes she reminds me of my mother.)

“Can you- While I’m gone, can you…” She trailed off, tossing her head back into the cushions. I wondered what Simon was doing now. Probably sleeping. It was awfully late-- she must have waited until he’d drifted off before coming over. I wondered why she hadn’t just called. She bit her lip. Bunce’s lips are always chapped and bleeding, because she spends all her time pretending they’re chewing gum. “I’m worried about Simon.” 

I couldn’t help it- I snorted at that, and let out a peel of bitter laughter. That got a smile out of her. “Yeah, no shit, Bunce.” I’d said, sitting on the arm of her chair. We aren’t always the most touchy of friends, but I put an arm around her shoulders then, stooping uncomfortably to do so. 

“I’ll stay over. Sleep on the floor, or something.” 

“You can sleep in his bed-- he hasn’t really used it in months.” 

I shook my head. We used to sleep there. Together. “No,” I said, “I don’t think I can.” 

She didn’t need me to explain, simply nodding. My chest flooded with warm feelings for her. Bunce is too good to me, even now. “I’ll change the sheets on mine, before I go.”

“Don’t.” 

Glaring at me over the rim of her glasses-- Penelope Bunce has a mighty glare, rival to my own-- she sat up a little and huffed, “Basil, you don’t have to sleep on the fucking floor-”

“No, you numpty.” I don’t usually have cause to insult Bunce’s intelligence, so I revelled in it for a moment. “I’ll change them myself. You’re stressed enough as is.” 

She leaned back into the chair, satisfied. “Alright.” 

We didn’t say anything for a while (there’s never anything to say), and I thought she’d fallen asleep. I was about to get up to find her a blanket when she mumbled something.

“What?” 

“I said, thanks.” 

I grimaced. “Don’t thank me.” 

There’s nothing to thank me for. This is my fault. I let this happen. 

Bunce was already getting up and stretching. “Stop making that face. Stop thinking self-destructive thoughts. You’re doing the best you can.” 

I hadn’t had anything to say to that, too tired to fight. 

**Simon**

He’s sitting beside me on the sofa today. I wasn’t going to let him, but he didn’t ask. Just picked my feet up off the arm of the couch-- my legs tingled where he held me with strong, calloused hands, pins and needles shooting up my skin-- and took a seat, letting my legs fall into his lap. 

We don’t say anything. I’m not watching the telly, and he’s not even pretending to. My face burns where I can feel his eyes on me. 

“You smell like cider,” He says at length.

“You smell like smoke,” I counter, careful not to look at him. 

His voice is strained when he replies, “We match.” 

I shrug. He used to like that.

“Love,” He says slowly. I flinch at the pet name. I haven’t heard it from him in so long.

“Yes, darling?” I spit. I think I’m going to cry. 

“Can I ask you a favor?” 

He’s being so delicate, like I’m made of glass. I want to tell him I’m not going to shatter, but I’m a shit liar. I’m definitely going to cry. It’s so un-Baz-like, so odd for him. My Baz is sharp edges and a sharper tongue, all stark contrast and bitter laughter. 

(My Baz. I don’t think I’m allowed to call him that anymore. But the thought of someone else saying it-- him being anyone else’s-- makes anger flare up something mad in the pit of my stomach. I want to shout. I don’t. Instead I continue to avoid his gaze and pick at the sofa cushions.)

“What is it?” I sniff, and he huffs, a gentle laugh. I don’t know what I’m doing that’s funny, but I’m glad he’s enjoying something from this. I’m not.

“Will you dial it back a little with the cider?”

I swallow. Admittedly, I know I’m going a little off the edge with it. I know. But when it’s just me in my head, when Penny’s in class and Baz sits and watches me silently, with that thousand mile stare, it helps to have a buffer. Something to fill my head with cotton, to cushion the blow. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I glance at him, careful not to move my head lest he know I’m looking. It’s no use, and I know it. Even if he weren’t watching me, his damned vampire senses would know. Usually I think it’s cool, but right now it’s just annoying. 

As it is, though, he’s already looking at me, so I give up and turn fully towards him, my feet still in his lap. Carefully, as if he thinks I’ll run off (I just might), he puts his hand on my shin. I’ve got my joggers rolled up to the knees-- I still overheat like a furnace. His hand is cool and I sigh. 

He’s got this look on his face. Tired, hopeful, just short of pleading. And hurt. I decide quickly that I don’t like it. 

“Er… yeah.” I say slowly, chewing my lip. His hand rubs gently back and forth on my leg. It’s not too much. 

“Thank you, Simon.” He says, smiling softly. 

I nod, turning back to the telly. I don’t know what’s on. I don’t even realize I’m crying until a tear slips off my chin and lands in my lap. 

**Baz**

To his credit, he does ease up on the cider. Only half the days I come to visit now is there a bottle hanging off his hand, and even then there are far less empty bottles strewn around. He’s on a good streak, I think, since we talked. He flushes when he sees me now, and sits up a little so I can sit on the other end of the couch. 

Two days ago, he asked me about my classes. I’d been so excited that I’d gushed for almost an hour-- my classes aren’t that exciting (economics rarely is), but it’d been something. He hadn’t said much, just looked at me and nodded every once in a while to show he was listening. It’s embarrassing, really, how much something that small made my heart flutter into my throat. 

For a split, mortifying moment I’d thought I was going to cry, choking on my words as I rushed to tell him about my latest assignment, or the girl who sits next to me and smells like vodka and cherry candy. He’d even laughed when I told him I’d thought about draining her, just to be rid of her snarky comments. (She seems to think, for reasons unbeknownst to me, that we are friends.)

Today, Bunce is sitting on the armchair beside the window when I come in, book propped in her lap and phone in her hand. She’s typing furiously and hardly looks up when the door swings shut behind me. Her hair’s in a blue knot at the top of her head, spilling out onto her forehead in these tiny, springy curls. 

Spread like butter across the sofa, Snow twitches when he sees me, giving me the barest hint of a smile. I smirk back, dropping my stuff on the coffee table and taking a seat on the ground by his midsection. 

His nose scrunches. “You smell like smoke.” 

I raise an eyebrow at him. “Astute observation, Snow.” I don’t know if I’m allowed to be snarky to him today, if he’ll crumple back in on himself if I am. 

“I wish you would quit,” He tells me earnestly. 

I glance at Bunce. She’s looking at me already, eyes sharp over the rim of her glasses. (She’s upgraded from cat-eyes to round, black ones that make her face seem even rounder, though she still switches when the mood strikes. I never thought I’d miss the cliché witch look she had going, but here we are.) “You know, Basil, I agree,” She tells me now, chewing thoughtfully on one purple nail, “It’s shitty for your body, and you’re flammable, for Merlin’s sake.”

“I don’t think vampires can get lung cancer,” I tell her. 

She shrugs. “We don’t know that.” 

“It smells gross.” Simon chimes in. He’s got this look on his face like he’s deciding whether or not to close himself back up. I won’t let him. There’s not a bottle in sight today-- possibly Bunce’s influence-- and the bags under his eyes are lighter today. 

“Compelling point,” I accede, “I’ll… cut back.” 

I know it’s a bad habit, and not one I’ll be able to easily let go, but the way his face lights up makes it worth it. 

“Thank you, Baz,” He says, gracing me with that grin for a moment longer before flopping back into the cushions. The television is running-- some program centering on Gordan Ramsey terrorizing children-- and he turns his attention back to it, still smiling. 

My mother smoked, and then my aunt after my mother’s death. When she was headmistress, her office always smelled like tobacco and expensive perfume. She’d let me sit on the floor by her feet as she graded papers and talked on the phone, and then she’d smile at me and tell me she appreciated me helping her with her work. 

Bunce goes back to her book, taking notes on her phone, and snarking about the poor kids on TV. I smile, watching her, and let my head fall back against Snow’s side. (He lets me; the tip of his tail drops onto my far shoulder.) Penelope reminds me of my mother sometimes, unwavering and unyielding, not afraid to go for what she wants. I guess between her and Fiona, I don’t really need to smoke. 

Simon giggles on something on the screen. I can feel the vibrations against the back of my neck, and his skin is warm even through his ratty t-shirt. 

It could be the sunlight or the way Penelope is chewing on the hem of her shirt, or Simon’s small laugh, but I feel like things could get better. If he lets me, if Bunce helps me, if I’m strong enough or brave enough or good enough. 

“That poor kid,” Penny says, “He’s trying his best.” 

“He’s burning his fucking chicken, is what he’s doing,” Simon grumbles. 

I glance at Simon over my shoulder. There’s a mole on his forehead that wasn’t there yesterday, and his skin’s warmer than it looked the day before. “I think he’s doing just fine,” I tell him, “Just fine.”


End file.
